The Flowers of Midgar
by Kohaku Frost
Summary: She's cold inside, where Rufus burns. He is facsinated by her quiet disdain for the world, as she is drawn to his warmth. But the world is ending, and there is not much time for the curse on Midgar to be lifted. Rufus is willing to die for love, but is He
1. Default Chapter

The Flowers of Midgar

Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Seven, or any lyrics I might use.

This is a simple fanfiction about complex people; i.e. this is part "Shinra" fic, part romance, part adventure, etc. There will be many mature themes dealt with in this fic, that's why it's rated R. If you don't think you can handle reading mild yaoi, excessive violence, swearing, rather long stretches of logic to get from point A to point B, then go away now and find some cheerful little G-rated fluffy thing to waste your time on. There will be little to no fluff in this fanfic.

Read and review, check out some of my other works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and if you choose to impart some, give me specific examples as to what you would like to see things changed to. Flames are always appreciated, and will be used to cook my dinner and heat my house. I will try to update as often as is physically possible, but I'm a college freshman, and I have a lot of crap to do etc. Enjoy.

They say flowers haven't bloomed in the soil of Midgar in more than a hundred years, when a curse was placed on the city. They say that the "curse" can only be broken when the "ruler" of Midgar gives his heart to someone, when this "ruler" truly loves someone for their self, not money or fame or any other human desire. Not even great sex, although that must always be factored into the equation of any relationship in Midgar. They also say that Santa Claus visits good children every year during Yule.

No one in Midgar believes the "curse" can be broken, but everyone believes in a curse. More often than not they blame their misfortune on it, and say it was caused by a rich man betraying the love of a poor girl from the slums. Don't buy it. It's a lie. There is a curse, and it can be broken, but by the "ruler" loving a girl with a heart of purest ice. It doesn't matter why he loves her, just that he does.

The unfortunate hero of our tale is a young woman, named Hero. Well, her real name was Grace, but everyone called her Hero, because that was what she was to them. She lived in Sector Three, had two degrees from the University of Midgar, and made her living running the highest "quality" bar under the Plate.

By the time she was twenty-five, Hero had lived on both major continents and every town on them, and had opened her bar in Sector Three. She lived above the business and rented rooms to her employees. She had the largest private library in the slums, and she loaned books to anyone who was willing to learn within the confines of the bar. Very rarely were books allowed to be taken outside the building. Hero almost never left the slums, preferring them to the fake glitter of the city above. She was very soft voiced and well learned, she never yelled or needed to, and she never seemed to change. That last was perfectly true: a batch of experimental anti-aging serum she got nicked with during the War saw to it that she never got that first white hair or wrinkle.

Hero had short black hair, eyes the color of warm honey, and a tear shaped scar on her forehead, the mark of a Wutainese exile. That scar meant that she would never have a problem walking through the slums alone at night. It was virtually unheard of for a non-native of Wutai to be given the mark of an exile; it showed the Council of Wutai feared her power, and had felt threatened by her presence. Whenever anyone was rude enough to ask, Hero simply smiled. They never asked again. You see, Hero was incredibly beautiful, and so was her smile, but both were completely devoid of warmth. When Hero smiled at you, the chill that ran up your spine told you more clearly than anything else that you were dealing with a killer. Yes, she was kind to children and animals, but there was a coldness in her that nothing and no one had ever warmed. The Wutainese had seen this, and though they had loved her as one of their own for her love of their ways and skill in battle, they had been terrified by that coldness. She was about 5' tall, with a great figure for her body (in other words, she had been approached more than once for a job at the Honeybee Inn) and was very well toned. She wasn't muscular, just toned, and she worked hard to keep it that way. She hated the thought of actually /looking/ as strong as she was, so she hired people to do the heavy lifting and hauling drunks out of her bar. She loathed needless violence, and was well known to go to the Gainsborough house just to enjoy the flowers. She was famous for being a good enough friend and a terrible enemy, and the people of the slums loved her dearly.

This is the tale of how the coldness in Hero was slowly replaced with a fire of love for someone who actually loved her underneath all the ice, and how that fire burned away the "curse" of Midgar.


	2. Chapter One

The Flowers of Midgar

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Seven, or any lyrics I might use.

This is a simple fanfiction about complex people; i.e. this is part "Shinra" fic, part romance, part adventure, etc. There will be many mature themes dealt with in this fic, that's why it's rated R. If you don't think you can handle reading excessive violence, swearing, rather long stretches of logic to get from point A to point B, then go away now and find some cheerful little G-rated fluffy thing to waste your time on. There will be little to no fluff in this fanfic.

Read and review, check out some of my other works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and if you choose to impart some, give me specific examples as to what you would like to see things changed to. Flames are always appreciated, and will be used to cook my dinner and warm my house (the heating bill tried to eat me yesterday, so yeah, please, send flames.). I will try to update as often as is physically possible, but I'm a college freshman, and I have a lot of crap to do. Enjoy.

The bar area was large, taking up almost the whole first floor of the building, decorated with taste and a little money, and the room seemed inviting and comfortable. The men in the doorway didn't believe it for a second. They knew the reputation of the bar's owner, a tough-as-nails bitch named Hero who everyone seemed so terrified of, and they knew there had to be more to it than this clean, well insulated, well stocked bar. It had to be hired muscle that made her threat. It had to be...or they were in deep shit.

The guns they had were held tightly in their shaking hands, their nervous eyes darting into every shadowed corner, looking for the thugs that /had/ to be there. The puny little runt sitting on the bar with a cigarette in one hand and book in the other couldn't be that 't be as deadly as they said. The chatter slowly died away, the slamming of the door going unnoticed, but the smell of trouble permeating the air made people stop talking and stare. Slowly, the room became perfectly silent, and the woman on the bar looked up from her book, took a long drag on her cigarette, and raised an eyebrow in mild annoyance. She looked them over once, let out the smoke in her lungs, and went back to her book.

It was the most enraging thing she could have done, and taking their lead from her, the rest of the patrons went back to their drinks and their gossip. The man on point of the little group of lowlifes half-turned to stare incredulously at his buddies then dropped like a rock as an empty bottle broke over his head. The others raised their guns, but to no avail; they were pelted with empty bottles and leaped upon by a mass of partially drunken patrons. Above the din, the woman on the bar spoke clearly and without lifting her eyes from the book.

"If those lice are out of here and the place cleaned in less than ten minutes, free drinks and no charge for the rest of the night."

The bar was spotless in five minutes, twenty-two seconds.

Such nights were typical at Dancing Dice, which, contrary to its name, had no dancing or dice. People came from all over Midgar, some as far as Kalm even, for the drinks, the gossip, the company, and Hero. The bar pretty much ran itself, the waitresses handing out drinks, two bartenders working at any time, and a cook in the fair sized kitchen whipping up snacks and decent meals. The bar didn't need bouncers, if there was anything to big for the patrons themselves to handle, Hero stepped in and the next night there would be twice as many people trying to get in. There was a first come first served policy, and the bar opened if and when Hero decided it did. She made more than enough money to cover damages from the occasional bar fight and keep everything well stocked. You could get drinks in Dancing Dice that you couldn't outside the fanciest bar on the Plate, for literally a fraction of the price. If profits were good one week, there would be unlimited free beer the next, or some such thing. You see why the people nearly worshipped her.

Every now and then, Hero would sponsor a chocobo race on the plains outside Midgar, so that the people could gamble, and being there wasn't necessary to collect your winnings. That was a perfect arrangement for the mostly hardworking people of the slums, and it gave them something they could take their families to during daylight hours. When the bar was closed, Hero would tutor any children that wanted to learn in her vast apartment above the bar. From about six in the morning to six in the evening, the place was deserted, the employees sleeping in their rooms on the fourth floor or at their homes, Hero and the children reading quietly by the fireplace in the winter, on the terrace during the hot summer months. There was an average of twenty children who came to her every day, sometimes more, sometimes less. Sector Three had the highest child literacy rate in Midgar, thanks to Hero, and the neighboring sectors were climbing the scales too, since the wealthy bar owner would give the children money for train tickets to come see her for reading lessons each day.

Yeah, she was a model citizen and all...but, like it said in the last chapter, she was cold all the way through. Once, one of the children was kidnapped by a Don on the way home from Hero's. Hero heard about it, and the kid was safe at home by opening time for the bar. Another example of perfection? Think again. If that child had been snatched just a few hours later, Hero wouldn't have bothered making a rescue. Would've interrupted her afternoon nap.

Am I trying to say that Hero was a heartless, cold person?

Absolutely.

Why?

Because I want you to know exactly the person she was before she met /him/. Before that shard of ice in her chest started beating again. Before...well, you get the idea.

Then again, /he/ wasn't much different before he met Hero. In fact, he was worse... He was fast on his way to becoming a dead man...and I guess you could say they saved one another. You could say...

They were made for each other.

But stuff like that is fluff, and didn't I say there would be no fluff in this story?


	3. Chapter Two

The Flowers of Midgar

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Seven, or any lyrics I might use.

This is a simple fanfiction about complex people; i.e. this is part "Shinra" fic, part romance, part adventure, etc. There will be many mature themes dealt with in this fic, that's why it's rated R. If you don't think you can handle reading excessive violence, swearing, rather long stretches of logic to get from point A to point B, then go away now and find some cheerful little G-rated fluffy thing to waste your time on. There will be little to no fluff in this fanfic.

Read and review, check out some of my other works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and if you choose to impart some, give me specific examples as to what you would like to see things changed to. Flames are always appreciated, and will be used to cook my dinner and warm my house (the heating bill tried to eat me yesterday, so yeah, please, send flames.). I will try to update as often as is physically possible, but I'm a college freshman, and I have a lot of crap to do. Enjoy.

The young man was handsome in that way that cocky young men sometimes have. The scars made him different, but not different enough for Hero to take a personal interest in him. Then again, Hero had never taken a "personal" interest in anyone. He came into the bar late, just before closing, cold sober. His long blood red hair was tied back in a pony tail, his blue-green eyes looking around alertly, his dark blue suit rumpled and the dress shirt open at the throat. It was the sort of uniform that required a tie, but he was the sort of punk that either wouldn't ever be able to find the tie, or just wouldn't wear it. Hero noticed all of this without looking up from her book, puffing away happily at the cigarette between her fingers. The waitresses were wiping down the tables, the bartenders were taking stock of what would need to be restocked, the last drunk had stumbled on home. Everything was quiet, until this kid showed up. He spied Hero through the ever-present cloud of smoke doing chin ups from the rafters and made his way over to her.

"Excuse me, but would you be the owner of this establishment?" It sounded, and was, rehearsed, but Hero decided to humor the kid and play along.

"Yes."

"Do you have a few moments to spare for a meeting with my superiors?" Hero hid a smirk. Great...the Shinra higher-ups wanted to see her. Not in this lifetime, at least on their terms.

"When and where?"

"Any time that's convenient for you, wherever convenient for you." That last bit wasn't rehearsed, and Hero caught herself reevaluating the kid. He was slum-born, streetwise, and he wasn't as young as she'd first thought. Point for him.

"And what is a smart kid like you doing lackeying for the fat bastards in their gilded tower?" Hero's curiosity was pricked, and she raised her eyes from the book to meet his. He'd earned a point in less than forty words, he'd earned conversation privileges.

"Earning my paycheck, same as anyone else. So, what's it gonna be? You interested in a meeting?" She'd gotten him to drop the staged bullshit, and she felt better. They should let the kid call the shots if they were going to send him in, he had a good head on his shoulders and knew how to play the game. There was a faint, high-pitched noise in Hero's ears so she took pity on the kid. Getting your chestnuts roasted over an earpiece was never pleasant.

"Tell your boss to send you down here for drinks, without the screechy earpiece and we'll talk about it." Hero look out the window near the door and grinned suddenly, lighting her whole face up with something akin to demonic glee. "And tell them the van is a little conspicuous. No one but Turks drive trash like that around here. Anyone else would get the whole damn thing stolen right out from under them."

The kid grinned and took the earpiece out, dropping it on the floor and crushing it with his heel. He smiled as the front door opened and the yells from the van filtered inside the cozy tavern.

"I'm down here, I need a drink, and I don't see any earpiece." Hero smiled just to see his ears turn pink.

"I'm Hero...welcome to Dancing Dice. If you can't walk when we get done with you, we have plenty of space in the gutter outside."

"I'm Reno...formerly of Sector Six, now of the greased, gilded, gelded tower. And if I can't walk, that's more than fine. Before then I'm sure have found some nice young lovely to take me home." His smile turned the scars on his cheekbones into deep laugh lines, actually adding to his looks. He wasn't too bad for a Turk, it seemed.

Tutoring for the day was canceled in favor of a trip out to the plains, courtesy of the City Exit Pass that Hero had swiped from Reno's pocket. Hero had spent the morning discussing terms that would get her into a formal setting with a Shinra employee. The Shinra higher-ups in question spent the morning formulating a plan to get Reno insinuated with Hero so they would have an edge. Poor fools just didn't understand that Hero didn't let people in close enough to get a hold over her, just for that reason. It might have annoyed her, if she'd been able to care, but she wasn't and it didn't.

Reno ended up getting sent home with plans for the Turks and an executive brave enough to venture down to Dancing Dice to make whatever deal Shinra was interested in this time later that night.

Hero sent the kids home at around three and laid down for her nap, vaguely puzzled about what Shinra wanted from her now. She knew for sure that they weren't getting it...but it was going to be fun to find out.


	4. Chapter Three

The Flowers of Midgar

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Seven, or any lyrics I might use.

This is a simple fanfiction about complex people; i.e. this is part "Shinra" fic, part romance, part adventure, etc. There will be many mature themes dealt with in this fic, that's why it's rated R. If you don't think you can handle reading excessive violence, swearing, rather long stretches of logic to get from point A to point B, then go away now and find some cheerful little G-rated fluffy thing to waste your time on. There will be little to no fluff in this fanfic.

Read and review, check out some of my other works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and if you choose to impart some, give me specific examples as to what you would like to see things changed to. Flames are always appreciated, and will be used to cook my dinner and warm my house (the heating bill tried to eat me yesterday, so yeah, please, send flames.). I will try to update as often as is physically possible, but I'm a college freshman, and I have a lot of crap to do. Enjoy.

"You did WHAT!?" Tseng of the Turks watched silently as Vice President Rufus turned to Reno with a look of sheer disbelief on his face. "You destroyed a 5000gil earpiece on a whim!?"

Reno had come stumbling in at seven o'clock that morning, still pretty close to sober, with the terms he'd worked out with Hero. That wasn't going to save his ass from getting chewed, but the Shinra execs had gotten what they wanted: a chance to make their proposal. Reno had gotten something he'd wanted: three stiff drinks and a bottle to take home. Now all that was left was to see if Hero got what she wanted.

A timid little secretary scampered up with a manila folder that she handed to Rufus before she made her escape. Rufus gave Reno one last murderous glare before he let his dark blue eyes look over the folder. It was old, very, very old, with the name Grace Blackwater on the front. With a practiced flick he opened it as he walked back to his desk to sit on a corner and read.

Name: Grace Blackwater

Aliases: Hero, Black Grace

Birthdate: August 15

Age: 25

Height/Weight: 5' 1 ½"/110

Hair/eye color: Black/reddish-golden (penciled in the margin: warm honey)

Blood type: O

Birthplace: Nibelheim

Noticeable features: Tear-shaped scar in center of forehead, multiple gunshots scars over body, various other scars. Tattoo of black Wutainese dragon on right leg (there was a picture of a leg with a silver dragon spiraling down it), tattoo of silver Wutainese dragon on left arm (picture of a left arm with a black dragon spiraling down it), and multiple piercings.

History: Lived in Nibelheim until the age of five, moved to Wutai. Lived in Wutai for ten years. Exiled at the age of fifteen, after completing the highest available levels of Wutainese martial arts training. Was hired by Shinra, age 17, as a mercenary to fight in the First Wutainese War; disappeared after the battle for the capital; thought to have been smuggling refugees out of Wutai. Appeared in Midgar, age 20; graduated University of Midgar with honors and two degrees, age 24. Opened bar in Sector Three, age 25. No known family or relatives.

Notes: (Written in pen, very sloppy) Exposed to increased levels of Mako radiation during the War, no obvious effects except a cessation of physical aging. Increased physical strength, consistent with tests performed in Nibelheim. Mental capacity near same level or unchanged, hard to tell...such a bright girl. Permission to perform further tests denied. Subject to be released from hospital immediately, injuries sustained during battle already healed. Permission to observe subject granted...further experimentation with Mako in initial stages of development. (Here the words are sloppier than everywhere else, the writing erratic and nearly illegible) Subject dismissed from military; contract fulfilled, etc. Eventually testing will resume, once subject resurfaces. (Words are blurred, the ink was smeared out when still wet) soon will have a match, and the breeding process can be started.

Rufus glanced up and looked at Tseng, bringing the Turk leader over to the desk without a word. He handed the expatriate Wutainese the file, watching Tseng's face closely as he read it. Reno stood in the center of the huge office quietly, not forgotten but ignored for the moment. He was grateful for the distraction, since getting yelled at by the chief was never pleasant. Tseng turned his brown/black eyes on his boss, one eyebrow raised and the ghost of what would have been a cold sweat on a lesser person hiding in his gaze.

"Well Tseng? Would you verify the Wutainese bit in here, and tell me what it means?" Rufus had that bored drawl in his voice that said all too clearly he was not happy with the contents of the file. Tseng looked at Reno briefly, and turned back to his commander in chief.

"I know for certain that the Wutainese references are true, as I knew this woman in Wutai. We called her Black Grace, and she...she is one of the most dangerous people in this world." If Tseng had shown a hint of hesitation at what he was saying, Rufus wouldn't have believed him. "Exiles are marked differently, according to the reasons they are exiled. A tear-shaped scar shows that the Council did not wish to send her away, but had to for the good of the people. Having the scar in the precise center of the forehead shows a large amount of respect for the person being exiled, to the Wutainese any mark in the center of the forehead is considered equal to a crown. So, translated, the Wutainese gave her a crown of tears when they sent her away."

Rufus sat in his comfortable desk chair and assimilated the information, getting almost as much from what Tseng was not saying as what he was. He was a scarred exile, and rather than use himself as an example, he chose to explain concepts.

"What's the significance of a crown of tears, and is there anything special about the tattoos?" Tseng looked at the picture once more and took a moment to find words to explain a practice older than ancient and twice as outdated.

"A crown of tears is exactly that...she carries the tears and prayers of Wutai with her everywhere. It means that if she asked, even though she is 'dead' to them, they would send an army to her side without question. She...is something of a...a fallen queen, you could say, among the Wutainese. If she returned to Wutai, she could overthrow the entire Council, most likely, with the might of the people behind her. That is what a crown of tears is to the Wutainese." Tseng paused to let this sink in. He wasn't at a loss for words; it had just been so long since he'd had to think about the ancient Wutainese traditions that he was a little rusty. The tattoos were easy though. "The tattoos are simple in comparison. All tattoos are determined by prophecy; once you reach a certain level of fighting skill, the village seer has a vision of your life. What she sees is turned into tattoos so that all who see you will know your power. Dragons are the highest of symbols you can get. The silver dragon represents the mind and magic in Wutainese lore, the left arm represents the pathway to the soul. The black dragon is the human self, the emotions, the desires that make us function; the right leg is the foundation of the person, the base from which the soul grows. The translation of it is this: four spirals from shoulder to elbow; she has four wars to fight within herself before she can tap her full potential. Five spirals from elbow to wrist; she has five wars of the body to fight before death can pursue her. The dragon's flames go all the way to the tips of her fingers, once a true fire is kindled in her, it will burn to the end of her life. Three spirals from hip to knee, she will destroy the lives of three people without meaning to. Four spirals from knee to ankle, she will free four souls from hell. The black dragon's flame spirals down her foot; she will find one redemption from her crimes in her life...if she can take it."

Tseng had fully warmed to his subject, and the study of the tattoos had fascinated him...he was looking forward to meeting Black Grace again, and he wondered idly if she would remember him. Rufus had listened patiently to the explanation of the tattoos and such, since he knew Tseng said it out loud to help himself remember. Reno had listened and absorbed the information; Tseng didn't often talk about Wutai, and he had to ask a question of his own.

"Well, in general, what do the tattoos mean concerning us?" Tseng looked up at him thoughtfully.

"It means that if you try to kill her, make sure that the first attack does the job, since you won't get a second. If you try to double-cross her, pray to all your gods that she won't kill you slowly. Ultimately, it means that if we make her our enemy, we're in deep shit." Rufus looked up at the long haired man in surprise. It was rare when Tseng appeared to believe in all the arcane traditions of his birth country, and when he did it was usually trouble. No one had ever rattled the assassin as much as this bar owner seemed to, but, then again, Tseng had never encountered someone he'd known before his exile in the years since he left Wutai. Curious...very curious...

Dismissing the Turks from his office, Rufus leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and thought up a game plan for that night's meeting with this Hero woman. That file was a good ten years old, and if it was stored when Hero was grimaced inwardly. He hated trying to charm the jaded.


	5. Chapter Four

The Flowers of Midgar

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy Seven, or any lyrics I might use.

This is a simple fanfiction about complex people; i.e. this is part "Shinra" fic, part romance, part adventure, etc. There will be many mature themes dealt with in this fic, that's why it's rated R. If you don't think you can handle reading excessive violence, swearing, rather long stretches of logic to get from point A to point B, then go away now and find some cheerful little G-rated fluffy thing to waste your time on. There will be little to no fluff in this fanfic.

Read and review, check out some of my other works. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and if you choose to impart some, give me specific examples as to what you would like to see things changed to. Flames are always appreciated, and will be used to cook my dinner and warm my house (the heating bill tried to eat me yesterday, so yeah, please, send flames.). I will try to update as often as is physically possible, but I'm a college freshman, and I have a lot of crap to do. Enjoy.

The bed was rather small, just big enough for Hero and her mountain of pillows. The blankets were handmade quilts from a woman in Sector Five who operated a fabric store. She thought Hero was wonderful, and so she was always sending one of her many children along with a blanket. Hero appreciated it, the building was a bitch to heat, and so when they didn't need it, they turned the heat off. The quilts insured that none of the employees would freeze to death in their sleep. Hero had slept for a few hours, waking up long enough to check the time and go back to sleep. She slept in forty-five minute segments, a habit ingrained during her military days, when she didn't know who would attack her first, her employers or the enemy. The clock on the bedside said it was a quarter to six, so she stretched a few times and snuggled under the covers to wake up slowly.

The blankets covered her face from her eyes down, and she absently looked around her apartment. The bed was in a corner by a window, opposite the door. A desk further along the wall from the bed had papers scattered over it covered in childish scribbles. The far wall was floor to ceiling bookcases, the dark red wood polished to a shine, the books lovingly dusted every morning. The door to the bathroom shared the wall with the hall door, a large painting by a long dead Wutainese artist between the two. Below the painting was an ornamental but functional sword rack filled with katanas and smaller swords and knives. She did her katas every morning when she woke up so she wouldn't get rusty. The old grandfather of the people who ran the restaurant in Sector Six was an exiled Wutainese swordsman and they often trained together. Neither learned anything, but he was still spry enough to give Hero a good workout when she needed it.

Feeling awake enough to holler down the hall for "coffee, damnit" Hero arched her back and relaxed the muscles in her shoulders as she walked over to her closet, her silk embroidered Wutainese dressing gown whispering along the freshly waxed wood of the floor. The black silk blended in with her short-ish shoulder-length hair so you couldn't tell where hair ended and robe began, the amber colored embroidery making her eyes look darker than they really were. She was lost from sight within the confines of her wardrobe when the subtle knock on the door announced the coffee had arrived. She hollered a muffled come in, and the waitress on duty entered bearing a tray with coffee, sugar, cream, and pastries. Hero crawled out of the wardrobe gasping and looking at it like it was a hideous monster.

"Ah...Caitlin, just the girl I wanted to see. I have a business meeting tonight...the Turk from this morning, his bunch, and one of his bosses. Would you be a dear and find me something to wear?" Hero poured herself a cup of coffee gratefully, liberally adding sugar, conservatively adding cream. The waitress Caitlin looked at the closet thoughtfully before she approached it and stepped in. The rustling and banging coming from within assured Hero that she had just barely escaped with her own life and that the brave girl would need a spectacular funeral when Caitlin returned dragging something covered in a dust jacket and looking like money.

"I thought this would be appropriate for any dealings with the Shinra, boss." Caitlin lifted off the dust cover as her hair-do finally gave up the ghost and fell apart. "Now if you don't need anything else, boss, I'll be off to get fixed for work...again..."

Hero thanked her kindly as the now bedraggled waitress left; turning to survey the outfit like it was a dangerous enemy. The white linen dress shirt was still pressed to perfection, the black silk waistcoat embroidered with white dragons made from fine silk thread, the black silk slacks unadorned. The outfit was masculine enough that the Shinra wouldn't treat her like a girl, but nice enough that she would still be able to make them drool if she wanted. Hero eyed it once more, then went to the bathroom to turn on the shower, resolving to give Caitlin a pay raise and a free trip to the hairdresser.

The night had been no busy than any other, it was a quarter to eleven, and the Shinra had yet to arrive. Dancing Dice had been open for almost four hours, the meeting had been scheduled for ten, Hero had gone through half a pack of cigarettes and two books already. She was slightly, just slightly, beyond annoyed. So when the Shinra finally walked through the door, they saw her flopped on the bar the way she usually was, her back against the wall, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. Her outfit had survived well, and she still looked great, but there was a fine thread of irritation running through the air. Some of the customers looked up, then they went back to their drinks. If Hero had problems with the Shinra, she could handle them.

Reno walked over to the bar, where Hero was sitting to find out where exactly the meeting would take place. He got there, opened his mouth, and went flying across the room. The bar was totally silent when Reno hit the wall on the other side, and the sound of bones crunching seemed to echo throughout the room. The remaining Turks had their hands on their guns, but didn't draw them. Rufus looked at Hero with an is-that-all-you've-got stare.

"A time for this discussion was agreed upon. That time came and went, just as your chance at a discussion came and went with it. Now get out." Hero's voice was laced with poison, and she wasn't near angry yet. The Shinra exchanged looks and left it to Rufus to fill the silence. The participants in a game of Asshole in back didn't bother to stop playing, the poker cards at another table were dealt, but the attention of everyone in that establishment was trained on Hero and the Shinra.

"I'm afraid that we were delayed. You have my deepest apologies for interrupting your schedule, but it was unavoidable. What would it take to bring that chance at discussion around again?" Rufus was unwillingly impressed with the woman. She was beautiful, and deadly, and in complete control of the situation, without even looking up from her book. She let out an offering to the perpetual smoke cloud hovering around the ceiling and raised her gaze to lock with Rufus'. Whereas he was impressed with her, Rufus didn't even show up on Hero's radar. Instead her eyes flicked to the Turks standing behind him. A woman, brunette, looked like a female bodybuilder. A tall man with a set of shoulders most women would drool over, skin the color of well creamed coffee, and badass written all over him. And...

"Kisaragi Tseng... It's been too long." Tseng smirked at her mischievously as she swung down from her perch and sauntered over to him. He bowed low when she reached him, murmuring something in Wutainese that made her smile light up the room. They spoke quietly for a moment, then Hero sighed and led them through the bar and into a back room. Chatter broke out immediately behind them, but Hero closed the door and ignored it. Tseng continued speaking to her in muted Wutainese, and Hero kept smiling. Occasionally she would interject a comment of her own in the fluid tongue, Tseng would laugh, and they would get back to the conversation at hand. Reno stumbled in behind everyone else, clutching his ribs, and the woman hurriedly used a materia to heal him.

"Kuroi Megumi, please, hear him out. The reason we were delayed is why we have come to you to begin with." Tseng was eminently respectful to her, knowing she would see it as a way of gaining favor, but not really caring. She deserved respect. Rufus stepped forward once more, well aware of how he had been overlooked, but deciding to use her low opinion of him to his advantage.

"Grace Blackwater, I have a business proposal that would be quite advantageous for you." He let his blue eyes meet hers as he flicked his bangs out of his eyes. She looked him over once, resisted the temptation to tell him to drop dead, and looked at him more closely. He had potential...it was just stuck underneath all the bullshit he was forced to put up with. She knew she was going to regret it later, but she nodded once and sat at the large table in the middle of the room. Hero put her feet up and grinned as Tseng ran his eyes over her legs. The others might have thought he was checking her out, but they both knew he was counting knives.

"I don't remember your legs being that long, Megumi." Tseng truly didn't; the last time he'd seen her, she'd only been able to wear a total of eight knives. Now he counted ten.

"I've grown since then...you should know that. You're a lot older than you were the last time I...saw...you." They were both playing up to the sexual banter expectations of the rest of the group. Reno was the only other person in the room who'd known what Tseng was looking for, but he'd counted two knives short. Tseng chose not to reply, but rather sat at the table, faced Hero, stretched out into the chair and crossed his ankles. Slowly the rest of the group sat around the scarred wooden table. "Now, what's so important that the mighty Rufus Shinra would venture into the slums to see me?"

The Turks all seemed to sit up straighter and put on knowing looks. Hero looked around the table and laughed. So, the all knowing Turks are even in the dark about this, Hero thought absently, her curiosity growing slightly. Rufus lifted a briefcase onto the table that Hero hadn't noticed earlier. He'd hidden it in his coat, and as he did so, Hero saw a shotgun on the other side of the coat. Watching that made her blood run cold, and she surveyed the other Turks with a harsher view than before. No...they didn't have any extra tricks. Hero looked up to see Rufus watching her, a small smirk playing around his full lips. Hero didn't like the little twerp looking at her like that, so she smiled back and watched the smirk fade from his eyes. She'd called his bluff, and made one of her own. Now they were starting to play the game, but it wouldn't be fun for Hero until someone pulled a gun.

"During a separate investigation, we ran across your name in conjunction with Sephiroth, Professor Hojo, and Professor Gast. This is of a small concern at the moment, but it will soon get much bigger. First order of business is simply to find out why you are in their files." Rufus had already found out part of that from Hero's general file at Shinra, but he needed specifics. It was very, very important. Hero's eyes narrowed and her lips twitched suspiciously as she tried to remember so far back in her past.

"Good Lord, Shinra....do you have any idea how long ago I was involved in any of that? I must've been ten years or more... Well, the Sephiroth connection is easy. I was hired to train him when he was knee high to a small bug, and later he was in my troop in the first War. He hit General rank in the last part of the Second Wutainese War, poor thing. I would sooner die than be stuck as career military..." Hero paused to light a cigarette, and settle herself into her chair again. "Hojo and Gast, misguided bastards, got a hold of me in the First War, when I was in the infirmary having my pieces put back together. They gave me a few extra injections, monitored me for a few weeks, and started talking about cellular implants. I know for a fact they gave me some kind of Mako shot, nothing fucks up your system like that shit. Apparently that's what stopped my aging and made me eternally young." Hero pulled a face and pushed out her cig. The bitterness in her voice was almost tangible, and Tseng was watching her closely. "They gave me a needle full of some kind of red colored shit...wasn't blood. Blood doesn't try to get out of the needle and eat you. Well, after about three months of them monkeying around with me, they brought in Seph and had him take a few swings at me with Masamune. He didn't really want to, but they told him some cock-and-bull story about me being part of a special science project, being as good as dead anyway, and all that jazz. Well, he took his swings, but I wasn't there anymore. I was on the other side of the fuckin' room before I knew I'd moved at all. That shit fucked me up for a long while, I got transferred out of there by pulling all my tubes out, breaking some of their beakers and cuttin' m'self up. I had to get 340 stitches, but I was discharged and gone. I haven't been to a doctor since."

Rufus had listened to her patiently, frowning thoughtfully now and then.

"Do you know why they picked you for the experiments?" Hero's eyes blazed, and she laughed bitterly.

"No clue. I've always figured it was a case of wrong place wrong time, but lately I've been thinking it was a little more than that. You see," And here Hero sat up straight and leaned toward Rufus conspiratorially. "While they were performing their experiments, they were talking about how it was lucky I'd finally been injured and they'd finally gotten their chance and that bullshit. And the woman Gast had brought along as his assistant, well, she was married to him and pregnant. He was talking to her about how their progress with someone of my genetic structure proved the shit they were doing would work on the brat once it was born. That horrified me, a nice enough man so obsessed with his job that he was fully intending to sacrifice his own child to science..."

Rufus thought about that for a while, pulling out his own pack of cigs and lighting one. Hero passed over the ashtray and a few moments of silence descended on the table. From out in the barroom there were shouts and yells coupled with the sound of bottles breaking and chairs crunching. The Turks tensed, but Hero laughed.

"Don't worry. The customers can handle anything that walks through that door. Part of the charm at Dancing Dice is that if you're close enough to a fight, you get to join in. If some kind of bruiser comes in, I'll get off the bar and tango. Drunks love it, says it's better than watching boxing on the tellies." Tseng stared at her in horror.

"You mean to tell me that a master trained in Wutai rolls toughs in the Midgar slums for fun!?" Hero raised and eyebrow and chuckled.

"Since when did I say it was fun? I haven't had an honest-to-God fight in longer than I can remember...I haven't had a fight since I hit Midgar."

"Tomorrow's my day off, I'll go a few rounds with you." The brunette had finally spoken, and her arrogance made the hair on the back of Hero's neck prickle. Hero looked at Tseng, gave him a chance to intervene, and when he didn't, Hero smiled broadly. It was the sort of smile a cat would get when she sees a mouse walking right into her mouth.

"What sort of training have you had? And I don't really care about what with, but my guess would be that the only person sitting at this table who'd even be able to make me break a sweat would be Tseng. I don't think you'd have the staying power to dance with me, kid." The brunette glared and looked ready to spit nails, but Tseng shot her a look.

"I agree with her, Bernice. Megumi could rip you apart without trying. But, Reno and Rude...I think they could handle a dance with you." He was looking at Hero again, a small smile playing around his lips. He knew where this was going, they both did, but getting there was the fun part.

"You think so? Well, I just find it interesting that you're so willing to have your underlings turned into hamburger...I think you're scared of me, Tseng." Hero's smile was distinctly feline, dangerous and seductive all at once, and Tseng smiled with one of his own come hither looks. Rufus snapped back to the happenings at the table with a glare.

"No one is fighting or planning at fight tonight. We're here for business, not games. Thank you for your cooperation Ms. Blackwater. If you would like, there is a job for you at Shinra and you can start whenever you like if you choose to take it. Thank you for your hospitality." He got up from his chair and stubbed out his cigarette. The Turks also rose, Tseng shooting a sorrowful look at Hero. Hero leaned back in her chair and grinned at them. They thought they were leaving without her getting something for her time?

"As rare as I'm sure it is, Mr. Shinra, your gratitude isn't enough to cover the cost of my time. There have been severe damages to my business during the time we were conversing, and I may need to be reimbursed." Hero's smiled could have made an angel run screaming in terror with the mischief hiding there. Rufus turned back to her, but he didn't sit back down at the table. Hero noticed he had his hand in his coat pocket, his finger probably on the trigger of the shotgun.

"Name your price Ms. Blackwater; I'd like to be on the plate before dawn." The bored drawl was thick in his voice, his arrogance having it say at being thwarted by a slum dwelling louse.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear, brat. You are in my bar, in my presence, and still breathing after a comment like that. Your luck has just run out, and if you don't start acting like a man instead of a spoiled child, it will be a long time before you see daylight again." Hero eyes were deadly, her voice was low and quiet, and Tseng dropped back to the door in a Wutainese fighting stance on instinct. Things had gone from good to worse in less time than it took to have an oh shit moment.


End file.
